


Slashing Around

by Abby_Ebon



Category: Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 06:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abby_Ebon/pseuds/Abby_Ebon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What could be worse then being the puppet of one God? Why, being given the ancient carnal “gift” by three of them! In short, to “save” the dragons, Eragon can and will be taking ANYONE to his bed! Well...Anyone with something down there, not up. Slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> My goal with this story is to in short; create a series of one-shots; attention to other lesser known possible slash pairings within the Inheritance Cycle universe. This is slash smut – meaning there is going to be male-on-male romance – but that does not mean I won't try for a plot among the smut that is likely to abound.

At the dawn of the stars, the land was wild; inhabited by animals, monsters, and giants – of them was a she-wolf, who bore – not cubs, but a God. His name was Gûntera, and he became King of the Gods – he who was both warrior and scholar, was known for his fickle nature. It was his destiny to battle the monsters of this early world and forge a place for his kin. Only Kílf, goddess of rivers and sea, would due as his wife. Then came the brothers –Urûr, master of the air and heavens, and Morgothal, god of fire; the brothers loved each other so much that neither could exist independently of the other. Proof of this was Morgothal's burning palace – the sun – during the day and the sparks – the stars – of his forge that appeared overhead every night. In both Urûr constantly fed his sibling so he would not die – for fire needed air to thrive. Sindri was the goddess of the earth it's self earth's sacred mother. The last God was Helzvog, who the dwarves claim created them, and the other Gods and Goddesses, in jealousy, formed their own perfect peoples.

Gûntera created the elves to control Alagaësia. Sindri brought forth humans from the soil of the earth. And the brothers Urûr and Morgothal; combined their knowledge and acted as one to form dragons. Only Kílf restrained herself, for the rivers and oceans held life and intelligence already in aplenty.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Morgothal, god of fire, stretched out backwards – back and spine popping bidding back a yawn, sweat dripped down his neck. It was then he felt his brothers cool hands on his shoulders, keeping him steady, silver haired and blue eyed, his fair brother let out a sigh against his hot skin.

"You have worked too hard this day." Urûr scolded gently, blue eyes flicking over the objects in his brothers forge. Morgothal looked fondly to his brother; by contrast, he had black hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin.

"You always say that." Morgothal said in an amused tone. Urûr leaned closer, enjoying the warmth his brother's skin offered – his chin against the others muscular shoulder. Morgothal shivered at the light touch, his face and his brother's close enough to breathe each others air.

"And it is always true." Urûr commented softly, blue eyes searched brown ones. Urûr narrowed his eyes, wisps of silver stands escaped the braid he normally kept them in – they fell against Morgothal's chest – his brother reached a hand up and with metal smiths hands curled the strands around his fingers creating a fine leash – not, Urûr thought with a shiver, that Morgothal needed such a thing to keep Urûr beside him.

"What is it that troubles you brother?" Urûr asked, his tone a firm demand for an answer, despite that both brothers knew that Morgothal was the more dominate of the two. Urûr gasped softly when the fingers curled about his hair gripped them tightly, yanking Urûr's ear against his brother's lips.

"Our dragons, there are only five." Morgothal bemoaned so, his sorrow nearly tangible, Urûr closed his eyes – breathing for a moment, the scent of his brother – of smoke and pine, assaulted his senses and he whimpered in sympathy – and reaction.

"What do you suggest we do?" Urûr asked in a husky whisper, Morgothal's hot tongue rasped against the lope of Urûr's ear – along the edges, and Urûr knew he was being played with.

"Dragon's are ours – but humans, the only Riders left, are Sindri's – she and we will need to speak." Morgothal's explanation offered Urûr no relief, as Morgothal brought the hand tangled in his hair to his cheek, caressing it, before boldly gripping Urûr's jaw and forcing him into a kiss. Urûr's blue eyes were wild and dark with need when Morgothal parted their lips.

"Please…?" Urûr begged softly, knees already weak with want.

Morgothal smirked, knowing the power he held over his brother – and the power Urûr held over him – roughly, his other hand gripped his brother's thigh, and Urûr – who could slip from the grip of anyone, came willingly to sit in his brothers lap; pale legs wrapped around his waist – the smooth cleft of Urûr's ass against his firm groin. As they had done since being brought into the universe fully formed, they partnered, wind reacting by forming wild storms upon the earth – volcanoes shivered and rocked, threatening to erupt.

It quelled, and Morgothal found himself holding his brother to him, breathing in the scent of storms and spice.

"Love you." Urûr murmured softly, bringing his lips up to kiss his brother, Morgothal's grip tightened pressing their bodies once more together, and Urûr came away from the kiss gasping.

"Love you." Morgothal replied in turn, smirking in turn, that with so little effort he brought his brother – lord of heaven and air – breathless.

"So, do you think Sindri will aid us?" Urûr asked, his cheeks flushed, eyes lowering to his brothers muscular chest – his own slighter form fit well against his brother. It was a marked difference between Urûr and the other Gods - where they were muscular with corded muscle – Urûr was slight and petite.

"She shall, she knows if she does not humans alone shall rule earth; they are not ready for such a task." Morgothal assured him, and Urûr only nodded, together they traveled to Sindri's domain; she was not unlike Morgothal in appearance – her hair was as black as his, though bits of grey showed in the sunlight. She was still lovely to behold with her chocolate skin and jeweled eyes.

"Ah, Morgothal – and Urûr- to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Sindri asked in gentle tones, for it was known the brothers rarely left Morgothal's shinning palace within the sun, which he had fashioned as a gift for Urûr.

"It concerns our dragons – and their Riders, the humans." Morgothal spoke, for it was known that in their youth Sindri and Urûr had rivaled for his attentions – and to this day, Sindri would favor Morgothal, and scorn Urûr – for all that air brought life to creatures and plants alike. Fire brought destruction, yes, but also a chance for new life; and volcanoes – which Sindri treasured, where fallen sparks from Morgothal's forge, to show her undying affection for the smith god.

"Yes, only five dragons – and only one a female, this concerns me as well, Morgothal – be assured of that fact." Sindri murmured, and when she walked forward, plants sprang from the ground, dyeing a moment later when she stepped away.

"The question is – what shall we do?" Urûr stated, reminded of his presence, Sindri nodded in wary agreement – but the message between God and Goddess was clear – do not come closer.

"The boy – Eragon, rider of Saphira, holds the ability to see what is to come in dreams – thought he does not understand this gift, and merely sees it as a product of his mind and imagination." Sindri told them, fingers dancing on the edge of the staff she had always carried – it was made from the leg bone of a giant – it was as tall as she was. It was assuredly an eerie reminder of the once ancient dominating race of the earth – as it was meant to be.

"You imply that if he has this gift – he may have others from his bloodline which we can awaken." Morgothal mused, a grin spreading across his features – it was, all at once, wicked and charming.

" _Precisely_." Sindri purred, pleased, Urûr shifted uncomfortably at the heated look Sindri thrust upon Morgothal.

Sindri closed her eyes, her brow furrowing as she traced Eragon's bloodline down to the ancient creation of humanity.

"It is as I thought," Sindri stated a moment later opening her eyes which glimmered, flecks of every jewel and metal gleaming within her eyes, "the boy's line holds my ancient gift – _lust_." Sindri smiled revealing two rows of teeth which were as sharp and jagged as mountain peeks, and as white as pure snow.

"What do you mean?" Urûr asked her then, licking his bottom lip his confusion, biting into the plump flesh caught his brother's eyes, and Sindri chuckled to gain their attention back.

"Carnal lust was how I bred humans so quickly – eventually, it was specialized into a gift; alike to the Dagshelgr of the elves, only a single individual is affected...and those around him or her will seduce them, or simply bed them." Sindri told the two, and they glanced between each other.

"All the Riders are male – so it would be pointless to allow females to be affected." Morgothal reasoned, and Urûr tapped his chin in thought, undecided.

"We do not yet know who the green egg will choose…" Urûr murmured, and Morgothal frowned – then shrugged.

"It would not matter – all the dragons are male, their Riders merely need to give in to allow the dragons to survive." Morgothal stated, and Urûr frowned, and then nodded his agreement with a sigh.

"Then we are in agreement – let it be witnessed that on this day in the eighteenth year of the Rider Eragon, the gift Dagshelgr awakened in his blood." Sindri declared solemnly, her staff held aloft for them to witness.

"Witnessed by Morgothal, god of flame." Morgothal whispered for he was eager to save his treasured race. His arms and skin caught aflame, black hair blowing in the wind Urûr had stirred.

"Witnessed by Urûr, lord of air and heaven." Urûr echoed in undertone, a tornado of wind swirled around him, proof of his claimed command.

"Witnessed by Sindri, mother of the earth who brought humans from the soil." Sindri murmured, the earth springing forth gems upon the soil they stood upon.

"So it is witnessed – so it shall be." All three declared, voices ringing all through the realms – as one, all Gods and Goddesses knew what had occurred, and as they could not stop it – had no wish to stop it – they merely watched events unfold.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eldest ends, 15. Eragon and Angela join their magic to undo what was done to Elva. The best they can do is add to her cursed blessing so it is changed into "May luck and happiness follow you, and may you be a shield from misfortune, in times of peace." So while Elva would always bring luck – which was not always good or bad luck, but luck nonetheless – and "happiness" to someone, she would not have to act as a shield from misfortune for those who surrounded her.
> 
> Angela had been well pleased, in so much that she had aided him in spreading the rumor of the green dragon egg being within Helgrind. So it was that the Varden and Nasuada gave him their blessing (though she has Trianna and Eragon report upon waking - and when threatened, she knows what befalls him) to go and fetch the egg while Angela promises that while he is away, Surda will not fall.
> 
> So it is that Roran, Orik, Arya, and Eragon with Saphira go into Helgrind – there they do indeed find Katrina, and the bones of Sloan picked clean by the Ra'zac. All of a sudden the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka attack in earnest. Eragon remembers Solembum's words to, when his power is insignificant, go to the Rock of Kuthian and open the Vault of Souls.
> 
> He knows, from Arya that Helgrind means "the Gates of Death". So he and the others flee to the smallest peak and find the green egg within the Vault of Souls. Now knowing she is protecting the last of her kind, Saphira is filled with power that is not her own – that is passed from the ancestors of dragon kind.
> 
> So, with a great burst of flame that come not entirely from within her, the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka are engulfed in flames. Arya and Saphira urge Eragon to go to Du Weldenvarden. He does so, and upon reaching it Vanir and Oromis greet him. Glaedr had determined that the green egg would hatch for Vanir – and so it does. Arya, upon greeting her mother, determines to stay within Du Weldenvarden and ensure the elves have a future Queen.
> 
> During a spar with Vanir, Eragon's chosen weapon – a short sword, was ruined. He looked beneath the roots of a Menoa Tree, and found a short sword which Rhunön refitted with a blue stone which matched Saphira's hide, gifted to him in his sixteenth year. Katrina and Roran are welcomed among the elves, who – as favor to Eragon, keep them safe. Only Orik vows to stay with Eragon until Murtagh, who slew the dwarf king, dies.
> 
> Shortly after, Saphira, he, Vanir, and the young green dragon – called Emïrald, met Murtagh and Spine over the Hadarac Desert. It is there that Vanir and Emïrald stood, claiming the Hadarac Desert as theirs – just as Glaedr and his Rider, Oromis, keep Du Weldenvarden. So it was that Eragon and Saphira drove Murtagh and Spine into the Beor Mountains.
> 
> There, Murtagh is kept "prisoner", and in Eragon's seventeenth year his vow to Orik –to kill his brother –has shifted with Orik's understanding of being under Galbatorix's sway to therefore to kill Shruikan and Galbatorix who have long withdrawn to Vroengard, where they still rule the Empire through the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka.
> 
> Orik was announced King, and Eragon as his brother is adopted of the Dūrgrimst Ingeitum – so it is that Murtagh finds himself among the dwarves while Saphira and Thorn go on a "hunt", hopeful of stirring Saphira's desire for a mating flight.
> 
> Of the exotic species they hunt are the Feldûnost, large goats that the dwarves use for steeds; Beorn, enormous bears, and the Nagra, gigantic boars which the dwarves consider to be a delicious dish and the Fanghur, which resemble dragons, though they are thinner, more agile, and a muddy green color. They attack their prey with their minds to incapacitate them. The last of the species is the Shrrg, a gigantic wolf swift enough to catch a Feldûnost and strong enough to kill a Nagra.
> 
> It is in this time, when Eragon is eighteen, that the gift of Sindri is awakened.

Eragon exhaled slowly, his blood rushed through his body wildly, and his ears pounded to the beat of his heart. If he lingered on the why of this he knew he would feel the pain – a pain that promised to be worse then burnt skin – though the pain he felt might come close to the pain of holding captured his own blood brother entombed in stone.

It wasn't as bad as all that – surely, for Eragon knew Murtagh was being taken care of; he was given food anytime he wanted, and access to any "safe" material he asked for – and was treated more like a lost friend then a prisoner by his guards. It was, of course, all an illusion, Murtagh was not trusted, and Eragon knew that better then anyone else.

All the same, he had not laid eyes on Murtagh since driving him into the clutches of the dwarves.

A flutter of pain threatened to jerk his restrained hand, barely; by force of will he let it pass unheeded. He was all too careful to keep his eyes adverted from the source of the faint prangs of pain in his knuckles. This was something he had wanted – something, in fact, that he had asked for. To change his mind now would bring dishonor on him – bring mockery upon his adopted clan that of the Dūrgrimst Ingeitum – and his brother in all but blood, Orik, king of the dwarves

Ascûdgamln had been his idea – and he was not about to change his mind because of the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. Logically, he knew having each of his knuckles replaced by metal might result in the loss of a finger, or his hand if the open wound became black and deadened. He knew all that – had been warned of it, but his reason had been beaten down by his want. The want to be accepted – to be acknowledged by the dwarves who thought him only to be a tool or a boy, most of all to be more then a child in the eyes of a people who he considered more alike in mind then any other, save Saphira.

Ascûdgamln was the answer he had come up with. It was an honor – not a mere right of passage, to be gifted with the Ascûdgamln. Eragon had been somewhat surprised to learn that he would not be the first Rider with the Ascûdgamln. When dragons had tied themselves with humans and elves, humans had more often then not still lived among the dwarves. So a human reared by dwarves would become a Rider, the next logical step was to ask, and be granted, the gift - the honor - of the Ascûdgamln.

It was why the dwarves had built their cities large enough to accommodate dragons – so those precious humans reared by dwarves would always have a home to come back to. It was why Az Sweldn rak Anhûin- the Tears of Anhûin had been outraged by his presence in Tarnag, after the Dragon War, the Riders who had been dwarf born had died, and were mourned even after so many years had passed that they had all but been forgotten by humans.

Though he knew he was considered an adult among most – or, rather, among humans, as elves likely didn't consider you a adult until you passed one hundred years – and Oromis, last of the ancient Dragon Riders had taught him only enough to fight and live to fight again. Oromis was – even while training Eragon (though he admitted to being blind to the favor then) - closer to Vanir then himself, for his part, Eragon tried not to take it personally, perhaps among the elf and human Riders there had always been that gap and it had only been made obvious after so many years between _then_ and now.

Eragon gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to flinch as he knew his knucklebone was removed, no – the elves were good allies. It had only taken him a while to understand that to him, elves were as understandable as the ancient dragons. They didn't _think_ like he did – dwarves and urgal were closer, and for that, more often then not he chose their company rather then elves.

The elves had their Riders – Vanir had Emïrald, and that was all that had mattered to them.

"You are almost through the Ascûdgamln. One more knuckle." It was a whispered promise, and one that Eragon almost wished he had not been told. It had been better when he had not known what to expect – though there was a certain rhythm to the pain – now that he knew he had to fight with himself not to look.

If he looked he knew the distance he had put between himself and his pain by mediation would be gone. Vanished like a wisp of smoke.

 _Saphira_ , he called out within his mind, hoping for an answer though he knew her to be far away – somewhere else within the Beor Mountains, hunting with Thorn.

 _Yes, little one, I am here_. Eragon fought not to slump with relief to hear her within his own mind.

 _I need a distraction_. Eragon admitted, all at once pleading and guilty – he knew he was not strong enough without her. In that way they were strongest when together, for all that, Saphira had not wanted to be beside him when he underwent this ordeal. He could not blame her, what he had asked to be done to him was all but torture. For a dragon to stand by while their Rider was in pain was simply not done. That he wanted it did not matter, not to her instinct to protect him.

So she and Thorn had decided to hunt, rather then risk harming a dwarf for doing what was asked of it.

 _Then a distraction you shall have_. Thorn promised in a way that was all at once mischievous and amused. Eragon had gotten used to Thorn, enough so that he considered the young male dragon a friend – despite their bad first meeting Thorn and Saphira got along well. Eragon at times found himself wishing it was still the same between Murtagh and him…

Before he could give a yes or no answer, Eragon found himself within Saphira's mind, so much so that he felt her body – and knew it – as well as he knew his own. He saw through her eyes and sensed the happenings of the world through her senses. This was a joining – this was what a Rider and Dragon, at the core – was. It was like everything, and it was unlike anything.

Beside Saphira, Thorn stood, the younger dragon growled to catch their attention – in a movement that could have been ignored by anyone else, he lifted his snout to the wind. Saphira mimicked him, and Eragon smelt the musk of dried fur and meat still warm enough to taste the blood, and tender enough to chew through.

 _Boar_ , Saphira told him, seemingly amused by his curiosity.

 _Nagra_? Eragon questioned them, knowing that only in the Beor Mountains did the giant boar dwell – by the dwarves they were considered appetizing and the dragons agreed heartily. Eragon did not have to ask to know that what Thorn and Saphria did not eat they would bring back so that the dwarves could have a share.

 _Yes_. Thorn agreed as he settled into a crouch, in the light of the setting sun his eyes flared like crimson sparks. Eragon knew – though he did not know hoe exactly he knew what he did – that Saphira would lead this hunt.

All at once the two lunged into the air, startling the boar into a run – this was done on purpose so the animal would be too confused by the sound of rushing air upon wings and run for a clearing instead of the trees.Fanghur, the dragons "little cousins" preyed upon the unwary who lingered in the forests of the Beor Mountains. They, as far as the Nagra was concerned, were the only predators who hunted aloft.

It was a mistake of instinct that would cost the giant boar its life. Working together in a way that Eragon recognized as a little like a "dance", and a little like the effortless knowledge that came with instinct - and hearing each other in their thoughts- Thorn caught the Nagra in his claws flying upward, it would have been a chancy move if he had been alone, but with Saphria flying below and snapping her teeth at the Nagra to distract it from harming Thorn it was a move that was worth the risk.

Only when the air grew thin did Thorn drop the boar, only for it to drop, bashing its limp body upon the rocks. Thorn and Saphira followed it down, almost like a game of cat and mouse, and only then did they approach the carcass. Eragon lingered in Saphira's only long enough to feel the blood and meat settle in her belly and to glimpse the dark desire that he caught in Thorn's gaze – then he fled, swiftly, not entirely unaffected by the stirring of desire from the male dragon.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Eragon came back to himself with a shuddering breath and the whispered reassurances of the dwarves who lingered around him. Eragon searched those around him for one face, and found it frowning worriedly at him – hesitating only a moment, Eragon gave Orik his best smile. Slowly, Orik returned it. After that there was talk – of success, of a feast to celebrate his turn into adulthood.

"Congratulations, if ever you were not one of us – you are now, of that there is no doubt." Orik told him as Eragon glanced only once to his hands – there were only bandages, and the bandages would not be removed for another day or so, depending on when he was healed.

"It gladdens my heart to hear that is so." Eragon murmured, standing and only then feeling a slight sinking feeling in his gut – as if he might be sick. His throat clenched, and he must have made some sound for Orik looked at him with real alarm.

"Are you well?" Orik asked carefully, only given such leisure for his standing with Eragon as clan brother.

"Yes. Only hungry, Saphira and Thorn were huntingNagra." Eragon explained, that at least was partly the truth – the dwarves would see nothing "barbaric" in that. Unlike the elves who likely would have been horrified to think that they had done such a thing and enjoyed the hunt. Or humans – who would not, could not understand. But for the dwarves, they understood bloodlust – and they found the taste of fresh meat more satisfying then cooked.

"Then we will see you fed and watered. For tonight, you are to rest – tomorrow we will have a proper feast!" Orik promised thumping him on the back, for all that his words were said as if he would not take Eragon to the kitchens or see him safely to his own bedroom, Eragon knew they were false. Orik must have been truly frightened to linger so over his health. It gave Eragon a warm feeling, and after food had settled into his stomach, he knew he was grateful to Orik – he owed his clan brother much, and did not think he could ever repay him.

Without a word Orik saw him safely to his chambers, only when Eragon touched the door – preparing to enter, did he speak.

"Murtagh heard of your choice to receive the Ascûdgamln. He is worried over you. He had asked to be with you, but we kept him away, knowing you would see him as a distraction – and a distraction could have been disastrous. Still. I would like you to speak with him so he may see for himself that you are in good heath." Orik did not look him in the eye as he spoke, merely to the side. Eragon knew he did that so he would not think Orik thought less of him for not confronting Murtagh about his decision beforehand.

"You asked me once to join you in hunting for his life. I find it ironic you now want me to comfort him." There was bitterness in his tone; even Eragon could not deny it. Perhaps it had been the hunt – or the pain of the Ascûdgamln – that let such wariness creep out. The moment the last word was spoken, he would have given anything to have stopped Orik from hearing – or have him forget the words, but he could not – would not – do that to Orik, not with his magic – not even to save their friendship. Orik meant too much to him to use magic upon him so lightly.

"That was a low blow. I know I asked you to slay your own kin for my sake – but I did not know then what I know now, and loss tainted my tongue. I sought your forgiveness long ago – even so, we both know now the price of a broken vow." Orik looked him in the eye then, and Eragon could only nod. He had not lost Orik to his bitterness – but feelings had been hurt on both sides and it would be a long time before that was forgotten.

"I was out of line, Orik…I will… _consider_ at length, about meeting Murtagh." It was the closet he was going to come to telling Orik he would do as his clan brother wanted. Without actually giving his word to do more then glance at Murtagh. Orik seemed to understand that all too well, merely nodding a farewell before turning and leaving Eragon to enter his room.

It was childish, because Saphira would not be back until morning, but Eragon felt as if someone watched him as he tried to sleep. But there was no one; he knew that for his magic told him so.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Eragon dreamed of flying, it was not such a strange dream, for he had flown with Saphira before. Only, that wasn't the strange part – the strange part was that he was flying all on his own. He was a dragon, and the sky was his birthright. The wind flicked along his scales, soothing, welcoming.

It was the wind that told him he was not alone. Its pattern changed, and he saw out of the corner of his eye the other male – larger, stronger then himself. Eragon knew then that this male had come to challenge his right to his territory – he knew also that in a fight of brute strength he would loose quickly.

The crimson scales glittered with health; the red flame of the dragon's eyes caught his own gaze. The other kept their mind – their thoughts – to themselves. That meant a challenge. Eragon tilted his wings upward, gaining new height – the other male followed; he turned to glance behind himself knowing that if challenged now he'd rather flee.

The other swiftly took advantage hooking claws and talons into Eragon's hide, holding his wings shut as the other dragon took his sky borne weight, if only to prove that he could. Eragon shrieked with alarm – this was not a challenge – this was a death sentence.

 _Calm, I will catch us before we fall too far – trust me?_ It was Thorn – Eragon knew that without question – confused to find the mind that had been walled off to him suddenly enveloped within his own thoughts Eragon did not struggle, though he panted for breath and his muscles strained in fright.

 _What are you doing? Do you wish to kill me_? Eragon tried not to flinch from Thorn as his muzzle toughed Eragon's cheek in a gesture of comfort and soothing. They had known each other since Eragon's hatching – they shared territory and while it was not unheard of to do so, it was a rare thing. It had meant, before this, that Eragon would always have another dragon to help him in fights over their territory. It meant females would seek them out and not the other way around, for females knew two males sharing territory meant her hatchlings would be well taken care of. It was the males that protected the young and helped them hatch while the females traveled where they pleased, sometimes in a flock with other females – sometimes alone. There was no such freedom for males who settled onto a territory and fought for it all their lives in hope for a female to choose them.

 _No – I do not want to kill you, Eragon…nest-brother, I …may I join minds with you_? There were things that could not be said, and Eragon understood that all too well – it was why Thorn had let his emotions and thoughts become so tied that he would act the stranger in a approach with Eragon that worried him. Nonetheless, he could not deny Thorn his request.

Shivering, he opened his mind to Thorn – allowing the other to share his heartbeat – his breath, his thoughts, and his senses. This, this was closer then the joining of a mating dance – this was too personal, too open – this was why male dragons did not linger in another's territory for it was inevitable that adult males link their mind in such a way if they shared territory.

It was exhilarating – addicting, terrifying.

Eragon mewled softly when he felt Thorn's desire to mate – it was intense, throbbing and piercing as if Thorn's shaft already pressed into him. His breath caught in his throat when he glimpsed over Thorn's memories – seeing Eragon hunting, sleeping curled against him – bathing, sunning – most of those times Eragon had not noticed Thorn watched.

Thorn growled softly, soothing and reassuring above him, the grip on his hide clenched when Eragon stumbled into the net that was Thorn's feelings and thoughts about Eragon. Females usually chose Thorn, Eragon had never questioned it before as he admitted to himself that Thorn was stronger then he was, better at fighting and could likely hold their territory if something happened to Eragon. Eragon was small – like a female, with his muddy brown and black hide he wasn't so bright a color that females took much notice. Or, at least – that was what Eragon had thought – Thorn knew of females who had taken notice of him, who had wanted Eragon and thought to perhaps mate with him, thought to take Eragon away from Thorn.

Thorn had driven those females away – protected him when he had not know he was in need of protecting. Eragon knew then that Thorn desired him – as a companion, as a nest brother – as a mate. The thought rang out in his mind until it was all he could think of, Erago squirmed in Thorn's grip but Thorn did not let him go.

 _Do you not see, I wish to mate you – to mount you and claim you as mine…please, Eragon…speak to me_? Thorn was shaky, and Eragon felt the uncertainly within the other male. An uncertainty Thorn had never shown – or, perhaps, had never known of in himself. Whatever Eragon did, he knew things were about to change between them – either Eragon would leave, or…or allow Thorn to lay claim on him…

Eragon breathed out shakily, whining as if a hatchling in need of reassurance. Thorn's bigger body held him close – restraining and reassuring. Possessively Thorn's tongue flicked over his scales along his face.

 _Do you see me as so weak_? Eragon finally asked of Thorn. If his nest brother saw him as a female…Eragon did not think he could bare it…

 _No nest brother, not at all – my attentions should be proof that I do not think you weak. Eragon, please – you must make your choice – either stay and partner with me…or flee…for I can not control myself_ …Thorn admitted, and Eragon took notice of their surroundings – they hovered above a clearing. Eragon felt heat rush through him and he arched beneath Thorn wantonly. He could not see life beyond Thorn – and if Thorn needed him, then Eragon could not deny him.

Thorn knew his choice with his movement and with a low possessive growl that sent shivers along Eragon's spines he released Eragon allowing him down to the clearing below. In a moment Thorn was beside him, shaft hard and erect against his belly. Eragon could not keep himself from looking at it. Eragon remembered watching Thorn mate with females – without being told to Eragon rolled onto his back submissively. Thorn watched him with dark blood red eyes.

Eragon arched his lower serpentine back, showing off his own groin. Thorn paused only once to lick at him teasingly before the other mounted him length rubbing against length. Eragon could not help himself – he had never felt anything like it before, he let out a whimper the hiss of air escaping his maw – Thorn flicked his own tongue against Eragon's sharp teeth.

Thorn then pushed his shaft into him – Eragon unable to catch his breath as their bodies and minds were joined. In the heat of need, want – have he lost his sense of self – there was no Eragon or Thorn, there was merely _us_ and they thrust against each other rocking against the earth below them.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Dazed, his length quivering in need Eragon (the human) woke, he shivered as the cool night air touched his sweaty skin, and it seemed he heard whispers on the wind…

" _..Let it be witnessed that on this day in the eighteenth year of the Rider Eragon, the gift Dagshelgr awakened in his blood_ …"A female voice, old, and fierce…

" _Witnessed by Morgothal, god of flame_ …" A males tone, seductive as flame with all its potential for safety and destruction….

" _Witnessed by Urûr, lord of air and heaven_ …" Another male, this one knew the power of voice and kept themselves and their power in check but there was a knowledge that that power was as wild as all the others if not kept under fierce control.

" _Witnessed by Sindri, mother of the earth who brought humans from the soil_." The same female voice from before declared, it was lonely and life-giving and yet filled with an undercurrent that could not be denied. It was the voice that would do as it willed and pity the soul that stood in the way shouting that what was so could not be.

" _So it is witnessed – so it shall be_."

Eragon could not stop himself from falling into sleep, though he had the feeling that whatever the gift of Dagshelgr was – it linked itself to him, and through him to Saphira…he struggled not to fall into the darkness, feeling that it was important he not sleep but he could not help himself.

Sleep called to him, seductive, the night filled with promises he had never seen or known before.

**Author's Note:**

> What does this mean for Eragon? Do you remember the Dagshelgr Innovation in Eldest – the whole, elves weave magic spell and forest explodes with sexual tension? Imagine that focused on Eragon – and to the males surrounding said Rider. Yes, I just turned him into a kind of satyriasis (what a male nymphomaniac is called)…


End file.
